


Lighten Up!

by write_light



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Christmas Fluff, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Being Idiots, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek's first Christmas together in their own place.  Everything is new, everything is 'the first time' they do things together as 'Stiles and Derek.'  But their big Christmas party is coming, and that means the loft needs holiday decorations – a dark and stormy sea that holds a relationship iceberg bigger than the one that sank the <i>Titanic</i>.<br/>Written for 12 Days of Sterek, Christmas 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighten Up!

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: the mildest angst and the fluffiest fluff, Sterek Christmas AU  
> Betas: **seleneheart** and **alexisjane** – many thanks to you both!  
>  Crossposted: On [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5380412) || [LJ](http://write-light.livejournal.com/585693.html) || [DW](http://write-light.dreamwidth.org/514321.html) || [tumblr](http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com/post/135516034310/lighten-up)  
> 

The gang promised to come over on Christmas Day, and so began Stiles and Derek's first fight: do we keep it simple or do we go all out? The argument fell along predictable lines, with Derek pleading for minimal guests, minimal decorations, minimal mess. 'Mess' was definitely the wrong choice of words.

"Mess? It's Christmas, Derek. You _expect_ a mess! Wrapping paper, ribbon, boxes-" Stiles paused to see if his argument was working; it wasn't. He continued. "Pine needles, tinsel, tangled up light cords – the best kind of mess."

 _Victory!_ , Stiles thought, seeing Derek's head drop.

Derek looked down not in submission, but because he still couldn't share that smile, the one full of pure happiness that he'd finally admitted how he felt about this hyperactive kid – and his world hadn't ended. It had grown so much bigger and better.

"But we have none of those things, Stiles. No eggnog, no candy canes, no stockings. No gifts at all, as a matter of fact."

"That's what 'Christmas shopping' means, Grinch-wolf. Or- or is Christmas not a wolf thing? Do you- Are you- Do you sing wolf-carols? Do you send cards on the solstice moon?"

Derek rolled his eyes, exactly the reaction Stiles loved to create.

"We'll go buy stuff this weekend, Derek. Stuff to bake cookies, and a tree, and ornaments, and lots of lights-"

Stiles never got the rest out because Derek leaned in and silenced him with a kiss.

***

The real trouble began, as most domestic disasters do, at the neighborhood hardware store.

"See, I told you we could get everything here," Derek said as they reached the dazzling winter wonderland of lights at the end of aisle five.

Stiles agreed, uttering the last hopeful words of that day, "We'll need a lot of lights."

Derek was already reaching for a box of his favorite kind of lights when Stiles spotted the perfect set, the most perfect he'd ever seen. They turned toward each other, showing the box they'd picked, still warm in their infatuation. But as their eyes drifted down from that loving gaze and refocused on the lights each held out like a gift, winter came to Beacon Hills.

"TWINKLE LIGHTS?!" Stiles exclaimed.

Derek, feeling personally attacked, could only think to say, "FLICKER FLAME LIGHTS?!" just as loudly.

"What's wrong with flicker flame lights?"

"What's wrong with these?" Derek countered.

The heat of a hundred light sets blazing around them could not warm the aisle now. Up at the register, Mr. Harvey shook his head.

"Happens every year," he said quietly to Mrs. Cortese, who still looked startled as she reached for her new Hallmark ornament. "I should stop stocking those damned blinking lights."

"Don't you _dare_. I'm on the big guy's side," Mrs. Cortese warned.

***

"You want to put up blinking lights on our Christmas tree? You, Derek Hale, want twinkly Christmas lights all over your stylish loft for everyone to see?"

"You keep saying it like… like werewolves are more believable than the lights I picked out."

"They _are_! God, I bet they only come with three settings: 'seizure,' 'sex shop window,' or 'UFO crash landing.' Talk about a slippery slope into the nightmare of inflatable Santa's and caroling Rudolph's on the lawn."

"We don’t have a lawn," said Derek defensively.

"I just can't believe you want lights that flash."

"They _twinkle_."

There was a pause as Stiles stared at Derek in utter disbelief, eyes narrowing.

"I _love_ twinkle lights," Derek said in such a soft voice that Stiles stopped protesting.

"Okay we won't buy them today. We'll think it over."

"Well, we sure aren't buying those either," Derek snapped, his calm demeanor gone.

"And what exactly is wrong with flicker-flame lights? They look like little candles. They're retro-cool."

"They look like _fire_ ," Derek argued, waiting for Stiles to catch on. "It's in the name."

***

All week, Stiles and Derek bickered over little things, from the thermostat setting (Stiles growled "higher"), and the number, in dozens, of Stiles' holiday cookies their guests could possibly consume at one party (Derek muttered "lower"), while in the background the holiday lighting issue simmered on, too hot to touch.

Derek finally pulled on his leather jacket, never a good sign, and left without saying goodbye. Stiles slammed the oven door and the cookies sagged. Stiles watched them collapse further under his death glare until they turned brown enough to call 'done,' and then tossed them on the counter to cool while he went to see Scott. Derek was already there.

***

"Scott, come on," Derek said, expecting Scott to agree with him.

"No, just…just never mind. This is the least important decision ever in the history of Beacon Hills."

Derek's head actually snapped back at that assessment; Stiles' mouth fell open in disbelief.

"Hey, it's okay Scott-" Stiles said, attempting to salvage the moment.

"So you'll give him what he wants?" Scott asked Stiles, highly doubtful. "Or _you_ could give in, Derek, right?"

He didn't have to wait for the answer; they spoke over each other, in sync on "No!" then dissolving into conflicting shouts as they reiterated their positions.

***

Christmas drew closer but days of chilling rain made it impossible to shop for a Christmas tree, string up lights on the building, or do anything else. In Stiles' case, he baked. Derek stared out the window at the rain.

***

The Sheriff had fully expected to see Derek at his door one day, ready to complain about Stiles. It seemed a logical occurrence in a universe where Stiles existed. Just not quite _this_ soon.

"What did he do now-?"

He didn't expect Derek to answer, nor to be dripping water all over his couch. The Sheriff grabbed a towel from the bathroom and returned to a still-silent Derek Hale.

"Why does he hate blinking Christmas lights?" Derek burst out, sure the Sheriff could make sense of his own son. He retreated under the dry towel, rubbing his head vigorously.

He re-emerged from under the towel when there was only silence from the other couch.

"Tell me you didn't put them on the tree already," said the Sheriff wearily; Derek could sense his anxiety.

"I just picked up one box at the store-" Derek said, frustration filling his voice.

"Oh, okay, well, good. We can salvage this. But I need to tell you a story first. I'll probably tell you a lot of stories now that you're dating- um, now that you and Stiles are together. We used to not care about lights, but then Claudia got sick and…everything mattered."

"Did she like blinking lights?" Derek asked gently, amazed that he was having this conversation at all.

"She didn't care. But we had a bunch on the tree that year. That last year. Left them up for months when-" The Sheriff's voice faded.

"I get it."

"Stiles said they reminded him of all the machines she was hooked up to, blinking off and on."

Derek buried his face in the towel as his shoulders sagged.

"You couldn't have known. And he should have told you."

"He would have, but I was busy being stupid about the flickering flame ones he chose."

"Fire, huh?" the Sheriff said, shaking his head at his own son. "Look, are you set on the twinkling lights?"

"No. My mother used to put them on the tree and tell us they were stars from the sky. Is all."

"TelI him that, Derek. You know what?" he asked, his tone changing, "one of my officers does that crazy North Pole Santa house over on Briarwood Road. You know the one? I'll show you the website where he gets his stuff."

***

"Flicker flame lights? Really?" Melissa demanded.

"Okay, not my finest hour. "

"After his family burned to death in a fire, you didn't think he'd mind a bit?" Scott asked bluntly.

"I love them though. I tried telling him they would make the tree look like it was from the Haunted Mansion, but he didn't like that idea either," Stiles mumbled. "God, I'm an asshole. I have to make this up to him."

"So you hate twinkling lights – with reason," Melissa added when she could see Stiles about to argue. "Do you want this to work? With Derek?"

"God yes!" Stiles said without a second's hesitation.

"Then compromise."

"Thanks…" Stiles mumbled, trying to think of ways to apologize to Derek that didn't involve baking more cookies or buying blinking Christmas lights.

"Let's go back to the hardware store," Scott offered. "I can help you pick out the perfect ones."

"Dude-" Stiles grinned.

"Just don't tell people this is what alphas really do over Christmas break."

***

The few days before Christmas were awkward ones – both Stiles and Derek were checking the front door constantly, wondering aloud if they'd maybe heard Scott knocking, or else running endless mysterious errands.

Derek had scared the UPS driver half to death when he slid the loft door open violently before the man had even knocked, and hissed "Come around back in ten minutes."

Stiles smuggled his packages in when Derek was still asleep one morning, but Derek tactfully pretended not to have noticed, despite the rapid heartbeat, the whispered curses and the one box that fell all the way down the spiral metal stairs.

***  
_Two days before the party_

When Stiles came home that afternoon, he found the loft ablaze.

"You are setting a really impossible and completely unfair bar for this relationship by apologizing first," Stiles said, once he'd stopped wiping the tears from his eyes.

Around him in every direction, the room was filled with trees – trees made of tiny orange points of light, like the smallest flames he'd ever seen. Derek looked like a golden demigod in this moment.

"You need a forest to find me in, if you want to keep indulging your Little Red kink. So here it is."

"I-" was all Stiles could muster; he took a deep breath.

"Your dad helped," Derek admitted.

"It's kind of like a forest fire," Stiles said, still amazed at what had to be a dozen LED trees blazing all around the loft.

"I’m getting used to it," Derek admitted.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said and hugged Derek so tight and for so long that night.

***

_Christmas Eve_

Derek was returning home with yet more butter and the last bag of almond flour in Beacon Hills. The street in front of him began glowing blue. As he drove closer, the wet pavement slowly turned a lighter blue. He stopped the truck in front of his building and stepped out, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. His head tilted slowly back as his gaze rose up the column of now deep blue lights that trailed from the rooftop of his apartment building all the way down to the main entrance, a three-foot-wide cascade of subtly shifting blue lights.

Derek was transfixed, so much so that he didn't realize he'd stopped in the middle of the street until a polite honk came from behind him.

"Nice lights!" they said as they pulled around. He never saw who it was; he just waved them past.

The rain on his face couldn't hide his emotions from Stiles.

***

_Christmas Day_

At the first Stilinski-Hale Christmas party, a surprising number of flat, rectangular boxes appeared under their otherwise completely unlit tree. Lydia and Parrish had given them strings of vintage bubble lights; Peter had given them strands of sickly-green cactus and cowboy boot lights at which they could only smile weakly. Scott snuck in some red chili pepper lights and the Sheriff had found a set made entirely of tiny leg lamps from _The Christmas Story_ ; Derek was speechless. He was also aghast.

This trend continued through five more gifts until their tree looked like Christmas had vomited all over it.

"I love it," Stiles said, squinting in the glare.

"I…love that you love it?" Derek said warily, but his arm around Stiles sent a clear message of affection. "But can we unplug some of them?" he whispered.

"No!" said Stiles quickly, turning to face him, and to avoid looking at the tree any more.

"Not even Liam's animated train lights with the choo-choo sound and the whistle?"

"Not _now_ – after everyone's gone, you big socially-inept dummy," Stiles whispered back.

"Peter's go first."

"Oh yeah," Stiles agreed.

 

THE END


End file.
